My favorite bartender in the world - a tall, tattooed, biker guy who is always kind to me - was standing outside the Beauty Bar when I walked up to the door. He was catching a breeze. I hadn't seen him in a while.

"Are you open?" I asked.

"Oh we're open," he said. "I just felt like standing outside."

"It's nice to see you," I said. "What's new?"

"I'm getting married!" he said. It seemed like he couldn't wait to say those words.

"Shut up," I said.

"It's true," he said.

"Congratulations," I said. "I can't believe it."

"Sometimes I can't believe it either."

And then, as I watched him make me a really crappy martini, he excitedly told me about the decision to ask her in the first place (it all started when they wanted to buy property together), the details of the ring (flea market, platinum, diamonds), and the events of the proposal itself (he blurted it out as they were walking into a bar.) It was nice to see a man so excited and in love. In fact, I've never seen a man so excited and in love.

"I had a lot of two month relationships in this town," he said.

"That's what this town is about," I said. "Two month relationships. It sucks...But now you've found the one, huh?"

He smiled widely. He then served me a non-dirty martini without olives, and I swear there was some sort of soapy residue mixed in there. I toasted him. I took a sip. And then I asked him make me another drink.

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